The world is your oyster

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Feb 19, 2012 :

New opportunities


Powered by technology, youth today are more aware of the plethora of choices available to them across the globe. They want to try new things and follow their instincts. They understand the hurdles that are in the way of our progress and are not hesitant to work towards bringing about critical changes — from fighting corruption to saving the environment and teaching the poor. It’s a whole new world out there, writes Shefali Tripathi Mehta.

I chat up kids in the park. What do you want to be when you grow up? A regular question. Teacher, pilot and doctor have long been dethroned by software engineer, Superman and astronaut, but the latest coup is by chef, farmer (organic, the little girl adds quickly) and marine biologist. What do you know of a marine biologist? I ask the nine-year-old, sure he has it confused with the glamorous new career introduced through a recent Hindi film, that of a deep-sea diver. “It’s about the plants and animals that live in the ocean.” And he continues to tell me of marine organisms, their food chains, and the threats they face. And where did he learn all this? “On National Geographic. Then, I looked up more stuff on the Internet,” he is astoundingly nonchalant.

The average age in which children of this Net Generation start using a computer is three. Their wired and tech-savvy world is far removed from ours. We entered a sanitised room taking off our shoes religiously to slip on black rubber slippers and were told to learn typing first, if we wanted to go anywhere near the computer! We spent hours learning MS Word and felt triumphant when our manual tabulations matched the ones the Excel Sheet threw up.

The national newspaper reached us by train in the afternoon in the city I grew up. There was no sign in that life to indicate that one day I could be reading and watching live news, as it was unfolding at any time of the day, anywhere in the world. When father returned from his trips abroad, we waited eagerly to hear his accounts; watch fascinating pictures of sunny piazzas, loaded supermarket shelves, exotic fruit; and hear local radio recorded by him on cassettes.

The world — wondrous and vast — reached us in bits. Now a click of the mouse tells us where to eat, what to buy, what to see, and what not to miss while visiting a foreign country; take a virtual tour or watch video clips of places around the world. Technology has blurred all geographical and cultural boundaries. We’re not just programming software for international clients or collaborating with foreign artists, but the Net Generation is growing up familiar and at ease with world trends — fashion, music, films, art, cuisine and lingo. Their ideas go viral. In our times, only flu went viral.

Information, ideas, news and entertainment at fingertips; fast and simple communication; and a globalised, open and competitive economy have led to innumerable new life choices for the Net Generation.

Choice is freedom

“Choosing to live your life by your own choice is the greatest freedom you will ever have.”

I was the first Arts student in a very large family. I caught aunts’ raised eyebrows as they whispered conspiratorially to others during weddings, “She’s taken Arts.” Some kind people said, “But you can still teach in a school. School teaching is a good option for girls.” For the older generation, I had closed all other doors to a career. Commerce was still largely used in the derogatory sense of the mammon and not taken up as a subject to build a career upon and almost never as early as in school.

That was then. Three decades later, a smaller, more connected, more familiar world; easy, accessible information; and non-conforming icons galore, the Net Generation has been given wings. The exposure to technology and its uses have made them more aware of the plethora of choices available to them across the globe. They want to try new things and follow their instincts. The older generation too is more open and encouraging of the youngsters pursuing the career of their dreams as against their own ‘safe’ choices. More children are making unusual career choices or taking a couple of years off to devote to their hobbies; learn new languages, travel; and then getting back to the workplace with renewed confidence and worldview.

Font design, blogging, online teaching, fruit and vegetable carving, pottery... Kids these days are taking up these as careers and not just hobbies. Though I guess, studying to be a Hand Writing expert wouldn’t be a good career choice anymore. Professions have become super specialised — one can make a living out of capping the left tooth of a blue whale! A fence-sitter who could not decide whether to take up Science or Arts, decides to be a prosthodontist — one who makes replacement teeth — a perfect combination of Arts and Science.

Though necessity is believed to be the mother of invention, the spirit of innovation, risk-taking and adventure thrives in a climate of freedom, opportunity and economic prosperity. It is because of their relative prosperity that many parents today are sending their kids to new age, experimental schools and encouraging them into sports and arts that can become fulfilling careers. This spirit of risk-taking, fostered and amply supported by technology and the availability of information, encourages young people to seek new and better ways of doing things. There is a rise in leadership and enterprise. Gender inequality has disappeared as far as the use of technology goes with girls being equally tech-savvy and networked.

Choices confound

I wanted to gift my teen and offered to buy her music. “Actually, I have everything I want on my iPod.” “Okay, then let’s buy a book?” “I’ll get it on Kindle.” “Then let’s go clothes shopping!” I was sure this would be the clincher, the perfect ploy for a mother-daughter outing. “I’ll order online when I’m done planning this event,” she said, not looking up from the three IM windows that she was furiously typing into.

Is more choice, freedom? It is believed that too many ideas, too many options, lead to lack of focus. With all the gadgets and the aid from technology, the Net Generation is often thought of as restless and distracted, unable to focus on anything. They grow up with a lot of organised activity and feel restless and disoriented when faced with free time or activity-less-ness. They are multitaskers who while doing homework listen to music, watch TV, eat, talk on phone and text too. With their need to have everything faster than it is, they seek immediate gratification. They are easily bored and change jobs and careers often.

Boredom in our times came as a blessing. When we had nothing to do, we tried new things. These were considered ‘pastimes’ and no one read too much into it to create pressures. Such as, if I enjoyed listening to the soothing and unhurried voices of All India Radio, no one wondered if I would grow up to be an RJ. There was enough time to do nothing, to daydream and to smell the flowers (read that as steal the neighbour’s guavas).

The multitude of material choices this generation has, has lead to consumerism and overconsumption, which is often based on credit. The compunctions about living on credit belonged to their elders. “Just do it”, “You deserve it”, “Because you’re worth it” — kind of advertising messages seem to talk to them one on one. Also, their emotional bonds may not be as strong and as steady as ours. Social media communities often create a false sense of connection and familiarity, leaving the young people at the core sometimes very isolated. With 2,000 friends online, their people-need still remains unfulfilled. Though I did not know what my best friend had for breakfast I would be sitting with her if she wanted to talk, every time.

The demands of a connected life, of keeping pace, fitting in everything possible, being ‘virtually’ available 24x7 can be an immense strain. If we were not home to receive a phone call, the caller called again; if we sent letters, we accounted for postal delays. No stress. Now if someone does not answer the phone, respond to emails, one may get worried or take offence. Phones have to be answered in temples, hospitals, bathrooms and while driving. Simple, everyday goings on turn complex and stressful. Holidays and time offs are not insulated from up-to-the-second outside news.

“Learning what to choose, and how to choose, may be the most important education you will ever receive.” With choices come responsibilities. To make informed choices, one needs to know and understand all its aspects. A friend tells of a choice he made as an 18-year-old. The engineering seat he was offered was available at Srinagar and at Tiruchirappalli. Knowing no other difference between the two except that being a Punjabi, South Indian food may pose a problem, he chose Srinagar. He forewent one that had better claim to academic excellence for lack of information.

Are choices for all?

Does this environment of immense possibilities and abundant choices percolate down to the other India? To the majority that lives to earn so they may eat? What choices does the car cleaning boy who could never go to school have? He was busy earning his roti. How does technology help all those young boys who work in restaurants cleaning tables and carrying away dirty plates?

When the house help’s daughter, after her good results in Grade 10, said she wanted to be a software engineer, I was worried. What if the parents who appeared so encouraging now, gave in to societal or financial pressures and pulled her out midway through her studies? Then she would be left with no skill to earn. Her dreams stymied.

Also, as the first-generation educated, she carried the burden of being the role model. Most often, economic status will steer kids into careers. The world may be full of possibilities, yet social and economic circumstances may remain major barriers.

RD, a brilliant student with visual impairment, idolised Dr Abdul Kalam, the former president of India, and like him dreamt of being a missile scientist from a very young age.As he came to higher classes, continuing in the Science stream became tough with no special aids for experiments, drawings or calculations. By Grade 10, he had to relinquish his dream and opt for Humanities. He simply had no choice.

A few generations back, very few persons with physical or mental disability could cross life barriers to become a part of the mainstream. Most were alienated in special schools and stereotypical jobs. A visually-impaired person today knows he can do more than weave cane chairs. Technology can and must obliterate all differences so that the economically and other disadvantaged sections of the people too can make better life choices.

Social change takes time. Technology, and the choices it offers, is changing lives in the hinterland too, although at a slower rate due to illiteracy, lack of infrastructure and poverty. A study puts the number of women in India using mobile phones to 300 million. Women in remote areas are using mobile and community radios for their empowerment — health issues and services; market and career information; trainings, self-employment; safety and finance.

ITC’s e-Chaupal provides internet kiosks in villages managed by farmers where they access information on the weather, market prices, and agricultural practices in their local language. Fair prices and direct marketing without intermediaries are big benefits to farmers. Mobile banking service for remote places where there are no banks, M-Pesa, and the use of satellite maps and GPS to track the reach of the Polio vaccine are some of the major revolutions technology is making in the villages.

Back to roots

Modern technology and communication have put the youngsters back and more closely in touch with issues of national importance. They understand the hurdles that are in the way of our progress and are not hesitant to work towards bringing about critical changes — from fighting corruption to saving the environment and teaching the poor.

They are not hesitant to enter politics, the proverbial ‘dirty’ field. Chavi Rajawat, an MBA who gave up her cushy corporate job to work in her village, is a shining example. As Sarpanch of her village in Rajasthan, it is her calling to see that every last paisa of the Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Scheme (NREGS) which guarantees 100 days of wage employment for rural, unskilled, manual worker, reaches those who are entitled to it.

If one hundred enthusiasts decide to organise a Tomatina fest, there are two hundred who stand up against the insensitivity of it in our country where five die every minute due to hunger. The Net Generation makes good use of the knowledge and awareness they are exposed to. They have been the loudest propagators of ecological and environmental conservation among other issues.

As I finish this piece, I remember and tell my daughter that in my days I would have had to type this out and send it by post along with a self-addressed stamped envelope. She laughs when I tell her that the ‘self-addressed, stamped envelope’ was necessary if I wanted my rejected piece returned. Am I glad for email? Yes! I’m glad for having sailed through the transition. From being happy in my childhood with wound-up toys, to looking at remote controlled toy cars with wonderment, then absolutely hating the lost-in-video-games generation, today, I do not grudge the three-year-olds their iPads for I understand what power it puts into their little hands and blooming minds. At the same time, I cannot help but think of Robert Frost’s dilemma if he were to write his famous poem now, it would probably be something like — Twenty-nine roads diverged in a yellow wood...

Hail Happiness

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All our lives, we hanker after that elusive state called ‘happiness’. But, isn’t happiness a relative term? Isn’t it driven from the inside? Shefali Tripathi Mehta wonders what happiness is all about.

It was a cold December evening in the north. I had just bought myself a pair of leather stiletto shoes that I had been lusting after. Returning home late from work, I walked up the quiet street. Most homes had their doors and windows tightly shut against the cold and there were very few people outside. In the hutments a little away, I could see people huddled around the open fires over which their meagre meals were being cooked.

The sassy clickety click of my shoes on the road was an immensely pleasing sound and I walked happy. Suddenly, from nowhere appeared a street urchin, a little boy of four or five. Driving an imaginary scooter, he buzzed past me in a thin shirt and leggings, his bare feet thumping loud and clear on the cold asphalt. The shame at my own vanity and the embarrassment at not being able to silence the harsh sound of my heels that night has stayed with me to remind that true happiness does not lie in stuff, it lives inside of the heart like it did in that little boy’s.

The happiness butterfly flits about teasingly. I wait for it to rest on my favourite music, parties, shopping, ‘likes’ on Facebook, a gourmet meal, a designer watch, a holiday, but it takes off, proving again and again that true happiness lies within the heart, not in worldly trappings.

Happiness is a choice

Like others of my generation, I too grew up on an overdose of the sad and the melancholy — the films, the songs, the literature. The heroes were drinking themselves to death; the heroines were drowning themselves in pools of their own tears and slashing their wrists. The songs of unrequited love and disillusionment were sweeter than those of hope and joy. Everyone almost wanted their love to not be reciprocated; to remain forever sad and heartbroken. Sadness was cool. It took years to unlearn that; to believe that the purpose of life is to live in joy — to unleash all the joy we can, not just for ourselves, but for all whose lives we touch.

Being happy needs practice. You cannot keep happiness in safekeeping till the moment you embark on that long-awaited Europe tour. Why not bake that cake, clean the windows, or play with the dog which will make you happy instantly? Then, day by day, moment from moment, happiness to happiness, we move and learn to live in that state. Happiness has to be cultivated and nurtured. Temporary setbacks, failures, lows and mood swings do not stifle a happy heart. A heart that has learnt to be happy will just spring back to its original state. A happy heart is one that embraces and accepts life with all its failings.

Elusive, transient, ephemeral is how happiness is most often described. This is true for momentary emotional states of bliss and joy like pleasant surprises, lucky breaks and other workings of the higher world, but today we know the science behind happiness and understand that a happy state of mind is an acquired art. Self-help books, spiritual gurus, life coaches and psychologists have ready-made formulas for achieving happiness — ‘The Ten Step Guide to Happiness’ and such.

Why do we live from one weekend to another? Why do we have the Monday morning blues and thank God for Fridays? Why do we long for breaks? And forever plan holidays? Because the original state of our mind longs for peace and tranquillity but is beleaguered by unease, discontent and feelings of emptiness. A busy morning is a microcosm of our lives — a razor-nicked chin, a burnt toast, spilled coffee, missed school bus, unscheduled power cut leading to frayed nerves, confusion and tears. This frantic pace of life and the demands of ‘professionalism’ complicate our living so that we are forever gripped with fear and self-doubt, packing more and more activity to stay ahead.

Accomplishment, praise, self-fulfilment contribute to personal happiness but not without the balance it requires in slowing down, accepting oneself, making time for others. A game of squash, a spa visit, a concert, lunch with friends are momentary pleasures that grow into conscious, regular habits of unwinding, leading to a lasting state of contentment and happiness.

Being happy

Good health, friendships, family, faith, charity, fulfilling career are known factors leading to the state of happiness. Dark chocolate and coffee will give you an instant high but try providing for a hungry child’s meals or a poor one’s education; just give a pair of slippers or a warm sweater to a poor kid and it will give you a high for life.

Physical and emotional well-being also contributes to happiness. It has been scientifically proven that exercise releases endorphins that give you a feeling of happiness. Working in the garden livens us up as the soil absorbs our negativity from the fingers. So you know that losing your head over the cobwebs will lead to cortisol build-up and a disgruntled house-help. Pick up the mop yourself, instead.

For me, being happy is also shedding inhibitions and living without regrets. While being wheeled in for a major surgery, the uncertainty of life a stark reality, I thought, ‘Oh my God, I’m going to die without learning to eat with chopsticks or dancing!’ It is my firm belief that people who can sing and dance are happy. Also because I can’t do both. Every time people break into an impromptu jive, I run for cover. So, when the other day, the crowd around the bonfire broke into a random boogie woogie, I slunk into the shadows. Two left feet, my regular excuse, usually works but this adamant woman dancing with abandon and rather badly too, would have none of it. “No one’s looking at your feet!” she said and pulled me into the circle. Once I let myself go, it felt wonderfully liberating. So, happiness to me is also waving out to the kids standing along the railway tracks or calling up my old aunt who I haven’t spoken to in years. It is these moments of unbridled joy that make a life of happiness.

As for wealth being the source of happiness — a rich man near death was sad that he could not take his hard-earned money with him to heaven. So he prayed hard and God decided to allow him to take one suitcase with him. Overjoyed, the man got his largest suitcase and filled it with gold bars. He died and arrived at the gates of heaven. St Peter, on seeing the suitcase, said, “Hold on, you can’t bring that in here!” The man explained that he had permission. St Peter checked and said, “You’re right. You’re allowed one bag, but I’m supposed to check its contents.” He opened the suitcase to inspect the worldly items that the man found too precious to leave behind and exclaimed, “You brought pavement?”

When a parcel from home arrives and you hit a high, you know it isn’t the things really but the love and affection that lies silently folded inside. Happiness is a broad spectrum emotion — from the peace that descends on the 24x7 unswitchable mind on a quiet hill to the powerful feeling of satisfaction on a goal accomplished. It is relative, it is wavering. Robert Frost was spot on when he said, “Happiness makes up in height what it lacks in length.”

Mother India Fuming!

I’ll push, I’m posh! The new mantra has been unleashed on us. The south Delhi madams who are eager to let drop, ‘Kal ghar main raid padi thi,’ so you know, have a new status symbol to flaunt. ‘I pushed, you know?’ they declare, touching the baby's chin lightly when it is brought in by the ayah, bathed and perfumed for the daily darshan of the Mamma before Mamma leaves for the spa. She’s so stressed, you see. The nurse says she got no sleep last night. The nurse.

The masses are completely taken by surprise at this sudden issue reversal. They’ve been let down by their idols. Just when they upgraded their vocab to include the cease – re – an and began to boast of the eye-widening , ‘Cease –re – an, bade opreshan se hua hai!’ This woman and her father-in-law came and completely overturned the snob-value ladder!

The Big B family otherwise known to guard their personal lives intensely suddenly went public with details of the delivery. At the press conference AB snapped at a very ritualistic question by a journalist, “Why do you want to know the weight!” I’m sure the journalist had not meant Aishwarya’s weight. But Father-in-law dwelt over the pain she bore for a long time without painkillers, the labour, the NORMAL delivery. Now when you say Taj Mahal, I do visualize Taj Mahal as the domed, white structure and not the crying, desperate love in the hearts of Shahjahan and his beloved. Likewise, when the Father-in-law draws his drawl longer in, ‘Aishwarya kept trying...’ my own body stiffens in sympathy and you know how I...visualize her. And everyone else does too – all the men who grew up dreaming of her making boiled tea in their kitchens.

Women facebookers, bloggers and tweeters are falling over one another (including me, of course) in their censure of this newest self-back-patting by the Bachchans. The misplaced sense of self-righteousness, the glorification of pain has Mother India fuming. Caesarean, normal, painkilled, induced, pushed, they say, is as personal a choice as Huggies or Pampers! Did we tell you sir that our grandfathers sported their bald pates with pride? Just a matter of personal choice, sir.

‘It’s an issue, goddamit!’ Big B fumes right back. Really? Is it so easy to forget that in this country hundreds of women try hard to hold their babies till they can reach the nearest hospital which may be 200 kilometers away? Hold on with fortitude to intense labour waiting outside hospitals begging for admission, for help. And so many of them and their newborns just die unattended. Issue that?

Ask the doctors, how many babies and their mothers have been saved because of the C Section? There is nothing wrong in requiring or preferring a caesarean section delivery. Let not these false notions of womanhood shake your pride in your independence, freedom of choice. Remember, when a glass of water is brought to you on a tray held by sanitised, gloved hands and you pick it and drink, no one lauds your effort, real woman.

I know we haven’t heard the last of this, even as columnists are busy tapping their keyboards right now. Sixteen to eighteen years hence, I’m afraid, Missy Bachchan in her Filmfare award acceptance will part her gooey lips to tell us that she owes it all to her beautiful mom who decided to push her. The hall will break into a thunderous applause and made-up, beautiful eyes will spout copious tears. Nah! Keep your tissues to yourself!

La La Land - The Reading Hour (Sept-Oct 2011 Issue)

By: Shefali Tripathi Mehta

I caught the whiff of the topic even as I joined the conversation late. The girls were chattering excitedly about Victoria’s secret. I slumped into CCD’s bucket chair and in an effort to quickly be-with-it, chipped in, I too had read about her Muslim cook. Half of them fell off their buckets laughing. The other half decided they would ignore me for the rest of their lives.

Thus chastised, I sat all night in my full-sleeved, toe-tipping white flannel nightie planning how to bridge the gap. Enormous it was. Time was when a man accompanying a woman to a lingerie shop lingered outside. The shop sold other things – egg, hairpin, gajak, raincoat. But it had a small hidden corner for the ladies and didn’t have to proclaim that business on the name board outside. Selling rat poison and toilet cleaner was totally respectable. Not so knickers. In that cloistered corner, women attended women. They gave what you asked for and never checked you out to advise, “I think you need the next size”! If you said you wanted one with blue flowers but only yellow were available, you didn’t insist. It was indelicate. Almost a decade ago, I overheard two male colleagues hotly discussing whether it was lin-g-ri or lau-je-ree and wondered why they would need to use it. The word, that is.

Sanitary napkins were asked for in hushed tones. In fact, the hush itself was enough. You just walked into a store with a somber expression and the person behind the counter automatically reached out for the packs in the lowest or the topmost shelves where they were stacked out of sight. A wrong brand and you shook your head very slightly or raised a finger in another direction. If it wasn’t understood, you took the name of the color of the pack. Green one. It was then handed over discreetly wrapped in brown paper. Much later, in black garbage disposal bags. All this discretion came to naught the moment you walked out of the store with the pack that did not look like a loaf of bread or a cushion.

The pacing-thinking night was rewarded with an ad in the morning newspaper for a SALE of women’s itsy-bitsies. A sale that would ‘change your life’. Close-necked and full-sleeved, I arrived at the venue. Outside, a mammoth panel had stringy two pieces drawing-pinned to it. Was my sleep-deficient mind breathing life into pictures from the tattered salon Cosmopolitan? Was inner wear, outer? I mean, where would those that wanted to stick these on to themselves, do it? Since our swim pools and beaches still have soaked-to-the-skin and revealing every tyre, salwar-suited and sareed beauties that bystanding men in underwear cannot have enough of, getting into shape for these little triangles would seem so completely pointless, no?

I stepped into a hallful of frenzied women of all variety – tender zeros and abundant others; covered in shapeless tents and uncovered in low rise jeans; noodle strapped, nude strapped and unstrapped. The chatter was distinct. Sassy guffaws, muffled giggles, restraining grins of 32 As and loud proclamations of 36 Ds.

Some wide-eyed, bushy-tailed male escorts followed their ladies carrying their heap of fantasies, pretending duty; imagining every shapely woman in sight in red lace or yellow sheer; now and then nodding slightly at something held out for approval or pointing discreetly at something some other woman was holding to herself.

Two demure looking kurta-dupatta-ed girls ahead of me rummaged through a carton marked ‘Passion’ in uneven capitals. One pulled out a barely-there and held it out to the other, ‘Here, this!’ ‘Chee!’ The other exclaimed mortified at the public exposé of her private fantasies and buried her head into another carton to hide her flush. ‘What chee? Didn’t we come here for this?’ The spunky first quickly shoved the coveted piece into her own bag. With the number of eyes popping out, I wondered if at such sales they should also sell something to hold the eyes firmly in place.